Between Two Lungs
by Sleepwalker48
Summary: When she was younger she dreamed that her life away from home would turn out to be like some sort of fairy tale. She didn't know then how wrong she could be. (Historical-ish fic. 1700s France. LiechtensteinxFrance, fem!RomanoxSpain, EnglandxPortugal, fem!CanadaxAmerica)
1. Prologue, Pt 1

**A/N: Woooo new story YEAH**

 **Other notes just involving musings on my own works and findings will be included below.**

XXX

Madeleine Williams-Bonnefoy considered herself lucky to be here. Francis' ball was opulent as always; the most stunning show anyone as wealthy as he could produce in all of France. She'd had a new dress made and tailored for herself just that morning. A hefty cost, no doubt, but her cousin from Europe was generous like that.

Or . . . so she hoped. Francis hadn't seen the dress yet, so he wouldn't know about all of the personal customizations that she'd added to it until they stepped into the Manor's dining hall.

But she didn't think he would mind. The man spoiled her, that much was true, and she didn't think that he would deny her such simple pleasures like a dress and a ballroom dance.

Lord Francis Bonnefoy entered the room she was waiting in, and his eyes were filled with wonder. The servants bowed as he descended the steps, with all of the grace and charm Madeleine knew him for. He made straight for his relative and embraced her. Madeline giggled at the familiar greeting he gave, his tight embrace and the kisses on her cheeks. He stepped back and took her in, silent yet oddly appreciatory.

"Gorgeous dress, _mon cheri."_

Madeleine knew it. She prided herself on her excellent fashion taste that she fancied had nothing to do with her French roots and had everything to do that she spent the bulk of her days bored and utterly, completely alone. She had developed an affinity for all things style and all things progressive ever since coming to join her relative in France about six months ago, and it showed in the amount of detail she had given her custom. The lavender dress scooped down low, revealing a side of her that was daring yet capable at the same time. Madeleine thought it matched her eyes. The dressmaker had thought so.

" _Je vous remercie, mon douce._ Marguerite helped me pick it."

"She is magnificent, _non?"_ He held out his arm to her, and she took it in turn. "I am glad you were able to make it."

"My bedroom is right upstairs."

"You know what I mean, _mon cheri._ "

"Well, in that case," said Madeline. "I am well."

Francis pecked her cheek once more. His stubble tickled her skin. "In that case, I am the happiest man in the world."

"Anything for you, Francis."

This made Francis smile, of course. He was too easily flattered, she thought, but it was one of the things that made him all the more dear to her.

The two made their way down the hallway of the first floor, towards the ballroom floor. Though the doors were closed, Madeleine could still hear the music pouring through. Francis hovered over her ear. "So, what do you say?" he asked flirtatiously. She gave him a questioning glance. "Will tonight be the night you find a man that will lift you off your feet?"

She smacked him playfully. "Stop that!"

"Miracles can happen, _ma douce fille_. All you have to do is open your heart for the chance to strike."

"Miracles are not for everyone. Just think of all of the men and women our Lord Christ did not heal while he was on earth."

"Think of all people that he did. All you have to do," he paused, "is _believe._ "

"I'm serious," said Madeleine, but she was smiling now. It didn't last long, however. "I just don't think there is any use in expecting something that can not be."

Hands poised on the door handles, the butlers almost made move to open them before France held up one hand. "Just a couple of minutes," he told them.

Madeleine knew what he would say to her before he could even open his mouth. "Francis, I am _fine_ —"

"I know you are fine. Did I say you were not?" His head dipped, trying to catch her eyes with his. "It is simply . . . I feel as though you have given up hope."

She stayed silent. His words were not false.

Francis picked up her chin with a hand of his own. Their eyes met. "Can you try for me? Just for tonight?"

Madeleine looked at him mournfully. How could she, when she barely knew any of the younger men out there? When the butlers opened the doors for them they would fall into the same routine that they always did, no matter what Francis promised. They would have their dance, same as they always would, and then they would part. Madeleine would fraternize with the older nobles, and Francis would flirt with the younger crowd. Then she would excuse herself and retire, while Francis would drink and partake of all the night's Bacchian pursuits.

She did not resent Francis for this. She knew that that was just the way it worked, the way it had been since before she had arrived to live with him. So why did she ever expect something different?

There was a reason why she had come to expect less. It was because all of those efforts usually came down to nothing. If she were some virgin trapped in some Greek play, she would be the Oracle and he the Adonis-type archetype. Because she knew the future, knew how this night's tag-team would end up looking like; Francis joking with the younger gentry, and her talking with their parents' old business and trade partners in return. Always in the background; the shadow to his light.

But it wasn't his fault, she knew. Because there was no way he could know exactly what it _was_ like.

Being her.

So she gave him a small smile. "Dance with me?"

He was still concerned, she knew, though the emotion was momentarily was overshadowed with warmth and brotherly affection.

"Of course."

And so they danced.

XXX

"They don't know how fortunate they really are."

Antonio Hernandez Carriedo turned swiftly to his companion. He was relatively surprised that she was on speaking terms with him, since she hadn't spoken a word to him this whole evening. Lovina didn't look at him, staring straight ahead, her usual imperious face softening to something more wistful. There was envy there as she watched the noblemen and women twirl and laugh with their partners, but mostly sadness. It was the most reflective Antonio had ever seen her; the ball itself being a reminder of all that she had lost.

"Lovi," Antonio said softly, "you are very fortunate to be here."

He could see her visibly struggling to restrain herself, her response strained; "I do not need _you_ to tell me the full sum of my providence." Her fingers clenched beside her. "I do not deserve this."

Antonio wasn't sure why, but right then and there he wished she would let him put his arms around her.

Instead, he said, "God never gives us more than what we can handle. He knows our future, and all of the adversities that manifest in our path are only there to make us stronger."

"Toni?"

"Yes?"

"Do me a favor and don't open your mouth for the rest of the night, 'kay?"

Antonio shut his mouth.

The two stood in silence for the most of the night, not talking to each other and only opening their mouths when spoken to or inquiring something of one of Francis' guests. It was something that made Antonio antsy and suited Lovina just fine.

He supposed it made some amount of sense that she had an issue with their Heavenly Father at the moment.

But he was sure it would pass.

XXX

Francis felt bad.

After dancing the first song of the night with his cousin, he left her to go flirt with some of the noblewomen.

He wished her the best, and tried to encourage her before he left to do the same. Despite her good humor, part of him felt as though she had lost hope in some way. And there was in no way that she should be doing so. _Especially_ when she was a cousin of his. She had held up this far, hadn't she?

And no matter how much she tried to qualify it, staying in bed all day with her fashion magazines and her gossip columns were in _no way_ helping matters. He _wanted_ her to be happy. . .

But he was running out of time.

XXX

Enzo Henrique Carriedo was tired of seeing rich people get so drunk that the bad decisions that they made became accepted as the norm.

You would think that the upper crust would know to present themselves a _bit_ better than they were doing now, he thought.

Not so.

 _The wealthy of this land are a disgrace_ , thought Enzo as he wide-stepped a puddle of throw-up in the manorhouse hallway. 'Tonio had told him to fetch more wineglasses, and it seemed as though the deeper he went into the manorhouse, the more of its secrets he saw some to light.

He had thought the world was better than this.

But he supposed her shouldn't be surprised. Enzo's employer, Lord Francis Bonnefoy, was as wicked as they came. He felt sympathy towards any lady or duchess whose _décolletage_ had caught Lord Bonnefoy's attention. As far as he'd been able to tell, no particularly woman had been able to escape his master's charm. He could only see it as a shame that none of them knew what his master was really after.

For Lord Bonnefoy incited the chase, but he never intended to be there in the long run. Many thought the lord was a complicated man, but this couldn't be far from the truth. Anyone who truly knew him knew that his pleasures were fairly simple, if you thought about it; a warm body by his side; each night, someone different.

He was used to such sins, though he had only been around Lord Bonnefoy's fetishes for the better part of three months. Enzo's life from before had seen no end to such pleasures; that much was true.

But he was better now. Well, trying to be, at least. He had come back to God and had given up the life of thievery and promiscuity in hope for mercy and forgiveness.

And God just might think he'd deserve that chance for redemption.

There was no end to the temptation, however—especially in the manorhouse of Lord Francis Bonnefoy.

XXX

Francis Bonnefoy was a womanizer, and he knew it.

As a matter of fact, he was certain a lot of people counted on it. It was precisely the reason they even bothered showing up at all. Because no matter how much they inwardly looked down on him, people first and foremost loved to be entertained, and there wasn't any place else that they could do that outside of the Bonnefoy manor house.

Bonnefoy Manor was a circus show, always awake and filled with scandal and deceit. No one ever was free from its sin, no matter how hard they might try. In the end, no one ended up quite as blameless as when they entered there, and this fact thrilled Lord Bonnefoy to absolutely no end. He had spent months redesigning the place after his father had died, so that none of the old money that had stood in honor of the man's great name would stand to be recognized. Five years later, the place was brightly lit and fashionably colored, all of its solemn ambiance and muted colors a thing of the past.

Now, Francis was free.

At the opening of his new madhouse, Lord Francis hosted the rich and the popular from far and wide. He especially hosted young women—if you gather his meaning. It wasn't until the Englishman had shown up that he had been able to do what he wanted to freely, since he knew that _someone_ had to tend to the guests, and it sure as hell wouldn't be him. No, he had more . . . _carnal_ matters to tend to.

The trail of broken hearts only grew larger over the years, and yet still the rich of the country couldn't help but come back time and time again. Even after all this time, there wasn't an end to the daytime visits; from reputatable lords who wished to have some part of his wealth, to the young women who demanded they be recompensed for their loss of honor. But really, Francis would always think; if they hadn't spread their legs, then none of this would've happened!

He often made his intentions quite clear before he went any further. He never forced himself; anyone who said otherwise was still hurt by his leaving him. But the man was a perpetual bachelor and virile as hell. He figured that he just could not help himself but partake of all that life had to offer.

That was one thing that differentiated he from his father. He chose to enjoy life and all of it's gifts; his father had simply chosen to reject them. Which didn't make any sense, really. They were rich, so why deny what had been given to them by God himself?

(Some might say that God gave him those gifts to do good will unto others. But he wasn't a Protestant, not like he knew his English partner to be. So basically felt as though all of those beliefs were downright ridiculous and really just inconvenient.)

One day, he thought, he'd settle down, choosing from one of his young -and hopefully, fertile- lovers to bestow him an heir. He'd let her live with him, too, for all it was worth, and might even be loyal.

But the night was filled with all sorts of delights that did not warrant to be ignored. For pleasure- _his_ pleasure-was his birth right.

Madeleine knew-of course she did! His dear, sweet cousin wasn't as innocent as she first appeared, and was a hell of a lot more clever than people gave her credit for. Days after arriving she had walked in on him while sticking it to some curvy duchess, one Violet or Veronique or some shit like that. He thought that she would have departed the Manor at once, would have condemned him for being so contrary to being the sweet boy that she had known from so long ago.

But she hadn't. No, she had accepted him, accepted him beyond anything that he'd done. It was love, pure and simple, and it wasn't until that jarring and mildly horrifying moment in the hallway after the fact had Francis realized that how much he had needed a love like that.

That didn't mean he would stop, however. No, not until he was old and crippled!

(And even then he'd like to have a mistress or three to warm his bed; it was how he imagined the end of his, to die next to the one who wet your cock with her mouth, much like the Old Testament David in the Holy Bible itself.)

But it did give him a moment of clarity, however. He was not as blind to her struggles as she might assume. It was only that he didn't know how to help her, not really. Not in the way that was important.

So he moved on, like he did with most things he didn't know how to deal with.

By his fourth glass of wine he was out hunting. A sea of gazes trailed after him in the way that he was used to as he looked for his next target. Some of those gazes were wistful; some of them, downright wrathful.

Francis found time and time again he could not care less.

For he was confident that his true intentions with the women he slept with would never get out, not if a woman wanted her reputation and her chances to be his wife in the (somewhat) near future to be ruined.

Unfortunately, all of those who had attended the ball he had already been with. And he so craved something new that night.

And then he spotted her.

XXX

 **A/N: Lame AF cliffhanger, I know. I'm not going to post chapters longer than this.**

 **This story's main character will technically be Lili Zwingli. The story will revolve around her, and will be focusing on her budding sexuality and her experiences with the world. I will not be focusing on her, however. Because, really, when's the last time you've read a fanfiction solely in Lili's POV the entire time?**

 **I'm not very sure which character will garner the most page-time with this story, because I'm kind of just popcorning around. All in all, though, it's a Love Story, one with triumphs and victories in its pursuit.**

 **Main pairings: South Italy/Spain (more sex here than anything), France/Lichtenstein (ish), England/Portugal (BJs for the most part), America/Canada.**

 **There will be lots of sex.**

 **There will be lots of cursing.**

 **There will be lots of references to religion.**

 **But they will be used in a . . . tasteful manner.**

 **(Take that as you will.)**

 **Enzo Henrique Carriedo is the name I've chosen for Portugal.**

 **Tell me what you think.**

 **Hope to see you in "Prologue, Part 2".**


	2. Prologue, Pt 2

**XXX**

Madeleine and Francis considered themselves to be Catholic, but Maddie knew that her cousin was no saint. Even when they were younger he had a queer fascination with the opposite sex; playing innocent games in the grass would soon lead his young mind to doing something more. On dares he would somehow make the most timid of children to kiss another; on his most ostentatious days, Maddie even remembered him kissing another boy. She found his voracious nature somewhat surprising, since his parents rarely showed each other any sort of physical affection at all. She figured that a run in with some nanny and their serving boy one day set her cousin off; forever in pursuit of things so taboo in high society.

Francis Bonnefoy was a rebellious child, though he seemed to have a lot of influence regarding what was 'done' and what was not. Everything he did was simultaneously scandalous and yet so incredibly "in" that it was no wonder the ladies could not stay away. There was a certain allure, to be sure, with being immodest and yet in style all at once. It was akin to being virginal and being sexually promiscuous all at once; surely, a paradox that many women entertained on the daily.

But just because she had never kissed a man before, did not mean she didn't ever want it was hard to see your self as being free when the man you lived with broke all barriers. It was hard to break out of a prison when the only thing that kept you back was yourself. So Maddie looked on after her cousin, a face of indifference on her tall perch of the balcony level of the ballroom, watching as he went from noblewoman to noblewoman in trying to determine what his next prey should be. It seemed already that that night would be like any other night while staying with the infamous Lord Bonnefoy...

This might have been true, were she only accounting for herself.

 **XXX**

'Vash is back," her mother muttered, a hall and a partly-open bedroom-door away. Three days before the Ball, Lili Zwingli wasn't eaves-dropping on them _per-se_ ; though she had strayed rather close to their door on her way to her room. "Have him go with her!"

"And what good would that do?" rumbled her father. "Grown men like him don't just stand around their sisters like they have nothing else to do!"

"If anyone was to see to her protection, it would be Vash," said her mother. "Besides, it's not like we have another lady's maid on hand. . ."

"What about that young servant who helps you dress?" said her father. "Feliciana, was it?"

"Oh—no." Her mother couldn't say it fast enough. "She's not up to the job."

"And why not?"

"She's not a very good houseworker," said her mother. "Dropping things all the time—a mess."

"Then why in the world did you hire her?"

"She lost her home—poor girl. I felt bad for her."

Her father 'hmmph'd'. "Perhaps she'll make a better lady's maid, then."

"Oh, sweetheart—it hardly works like that."

"How hard can it be? All she need to do is follow the girl the whole night."

"Perhaps if we'd only ask Vash . . ."

"How many times must I say it?" Her father's temper. It reared its ugly head without provocation at times like these. "The boy just got back; he has no use for such trivial matters!"

In hindsight, Lili wished that her mother possessed a bit more backbone in getting her father to see things in his wife's perspective. Growing up, her parents had made the mistake of telling Lili that Vash was their favorite, if not for the simple fact that he was a male, but because he was so much more focused and took things so much more seriously than she. Yet Lili adored her brother, and had ever since she was a little girl. She knew that she'd much prefer having him around for company than some maid that she hardly knew, but, like with many things, the matter was very much out of her hands.

And that was the conversation that precluded Lili's second outing since acquiring her marriageable status; the one that allowed her to attend the Ball of the oh-so-famous Lord Francis Bonnefoy all the way in Northern France. One trip to the tailor to fit both her and the new maid later, the two of them jostled back and forth in the closed carriage that would take them to the French countryside. Lili couldn't believe how quickly things had progressed, from getting starting her menstrual cycle for the first time to her debutante party. And then to this.

She rather felt like a package to be mailed out and then sent back in more favorable condition.

 **XXX**

Lili was nervous.

(And, really, she had every right to be.)

First of all, her brother wasn't there. She always felt more comfortable when her brother was around; whether her parents appreciated it or not.

Lili's parents had always thought that she was too attached to Vash. Lili found that she couldn't care less. Vash was the absolute most greatest thing in her life that God had blessed her with, and she had vowed long ago that nothing anyone could say would be allowed to dissuade her from being with those whom she loved.

There was another reason why young Lili was so nervous, however. She had tried to ignore it, but it still pervaded her thoughts. She was of marrying age, and this was practically her second time out looking for a suitor. From here on out, every time she went out, she would be on the market for a nobleman's son or an earl or a duke to bring home to her mother and father. She would have to have _expectations,_ something that she never considered having up until now.

Because, above all, Lili listened to her heart. It was a trait of hers that her mother foretold would lead to her downfall, but she found that she couldn't care less. Their world did not have enough emotion in it, she felt, and it was love that truly brought people together. This whole Enlightenment deal was all good and dandy to her, but really, she thought, would it all last?

Lili did not think it would. And that was why, perhaps, she held her true feelings all the more pertinent to her own personal philosophy.

 **XXX**

Attending the ball with a stand-in lady's maid had made her parents more uncomfortable than she had ever seen them. It was something about the host that made up the bulk of their unease, she felt; something about the reputation of one Lord Francis Bonnefoy that kept them on edge.

But, whatever his history, Herr and Frau Zwingli were absolutely _dedicated_ to getting her there. It would be the perfect opportunity for Lili to stretch her limbs and become a more versatile lady in the sphere of the rich; because Lord knew she needed the practice.

Whenever they brought up her incompetence, Lili couldn't see what about her parents found fault with. In her own mind, she seemed a perfectly capable human being, worthy of her family's title with musical knowledge regarding both the flute and the piano. She knew three different languages- German, English and French—so it wasn't as if she was deficient in her communication skills. Sure, she would never be the most attractive person in the room—she still had that girlish way about her that her mother and father both prayed would fall away soon—but at least she wasn't hard to look at. Lili rarely grew nervous around large groups of people, and knew how to talk so that the people closest could hear; she knew how to use the voice that God had given her, and when she had an opinion, she had no reason why she couldn't say it-especially while around people that she knew.

But what her parents saw and what Lili saw were two different things. Lili did not grow nervous around large groups of people, because she rarely _surrounded_ herself with large groups of people. She rarely tied herself in the laborious task of small talk at events such as the one she was heading towards now, because she couldn't _stand_ small talk with people she hardly knew. Lili was a daydreamer, reflective to a fault, and enjoyed the intimacy of a conversation that only two to three people could supply. So, qualities in her that Herr and Frau Zwingli saw as fault , Lili saw as the most likeable things about herself.

Conflicting expectations aside, Lili was going to the Ball no matter what. And since this is essentially a flashback of the main character's personal life anyway, there was nothing that analyzing the actions of the Zwingli family could do about changing Fraulein Zwingli's fate. In the end, Lili was going to Francis Bonnefoy's ball. Despite what the ensuing consequences might have be.

 **XXX**

"What do you usually look for in a suitor?"

Her lady's maid for the night looked at her in alarm. The girl was quite pretty, Lili thought, once she was given the proper clothes to wear. It had turned out that she and Feliciana wore exactly the same size; no need for them to go out and purchase a dress for a chambermaid that would only be stepping out as nobility once, her father had said. But after Lili's parents had stepped out of the room, Lili had told Feliciana that she could keep the thing. It was, after all, just fabric and thread.

Feliciana almost broke down and cried just then. Lili felt bad, then told her to hold in her tears until the dress was off, lest it be ruined. Feliciana did as she was asked, and then proceeded to fall into Lili's arms, sobbing hard in only her corset and chemise.

Feliciana Vargas was not your typical chamber maid. As said before, Lili's mother only adopted her into the household because of the fact that she felt sorry for her and her family. Living out on the streets with her two remaining siblings, the three of them applied for jobs with the most queer of qualifications. For what working class girl knew how to speak Spanish, English, German, Italian _and_ French, _Don Quixote_ by heart, and the entirety of Italian/Spanish history, but did not even know how to carry a tray up stairs without dropping it and all of its contents on the floor? It was a mystifying ordeal, that was for sure, but she had agreed to work for them at almost a third of the usual pay for being a chambermaid, so that was that.

Lili thought that the young woman's secret history made her rather fascinating, and on the off-chance that they would see each other, Lili would enjoy trying to steal in the odd word or two to discover more about her. Where was she from, who was her family? All she had gotten were nervous responses in German that she was from Northern Italy. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

But now, Lili had her to herself. This was her chance, and she knew that once she had had spoken the question, that Feliciana knew it too.

Feliciana gave a fleeting little smile and looked down at her hands. "I don't know, fraulein. I never went out much."

Feliciana was an adept liar. "With a face like yours? I highly doubt that, Feli!"

Feliciana brightened at that. Whether it was the casual way she had given her family's maid such an easy-to-say moniker, or simply the fact that Lili was talking with her in such an easy-going manner, Lili couldn't really tell. All she knew was, Feliciana finally seemed obliged to talk.

"Well, I guess there have been a few times. . . " Feliciana tilted her head in thought. "I am only seventeen, as you may know, fraulein, but some of my childhood friends ended up being very dear to me." Feliciana pursed her lips. "I think that perhaps what attracts me the most is someone who is sincere in what he says . . . and who follows commitments." And this, Feli gave a sure nod of the head.

"It seems as though you've had a lot of falling out with men who didn't live up to your expectations."

"I wouldn't say 'falling out' with!" Feli defended. "But I do rather . . . dislike it when a man says one thing and does the opposite other."

Lili nodded sagely, then looked at her maid with a twinkle in her eye. "And what about . . . physical characteristics?"

Feliciana blushed at that. "Wh-what do you mean, fraulein?"

Lili's smile grew. Feli's blush deepened.

"W-well, matters such as that shouldn't hold much importance, should it?" Feli asked, though Lili knew by her reaction that she really didn't mean what she had just said. "I-I mean, it's what's inside that counts, no?"

"Of course," said Lili. "But I mean – hypothetically- if you found man with a good heart _and_ good looks, what would those good looks be?"

"Um—well. I think I may be alone in this, my being an Italian and all, but I really think that blue eyes are the best," said Feli at last. "There's a depth to them that really excites me, you know? And people with blue eyes—well. I want to wake up with someone eyes unlike mine. I want to wake up next to someone and feel as though I'm staring at the sky."

She and the maid locked gazes with each other. Lili wasn't sure how it had happened, but it seemed as though a real understanding had passed between them. Whether from the mention of the blue eyes or something more, Lili was glad it happened. _It's been a while since I've had a real friend,_ Lili thought.

"I think," Lili began, "that's something that I'd like in a suitor, as well."

 **XXX**

At the Ball now, Lili found herself submitting to the strain of the orchestra, its harmony making her sway side to side like a tree to a particularly strong gale. The violin, her favorite-though she couldn't very well explain that to her parents, for the violin was seen as a very intense instrument to go and handle, and really only played by men-stirred her right down to her very soul, and she closed her eyes, letting it take her to a world far, far beyond her own small piece of it.

"Hello."

Lili got scared easily. It wasn't a very lady-like trait that her parents were very comfortable with her having, and she really did try to get rid of it. But when she was off like this, being carried away into her own little world, it got hard at times. The jolt back into reality was discomforting at best, when she realized things were still back to being the same as they always were.

But waking up from her little daydream, she felt as though reality was beginning to seem a little less route.

Looking at her was the most beautiful man she had ever encountered. Long, blonde hair, fair and luscious, cascaded past his ears and into a ponytail at the back of his head. He was tall too, with a strong, prominent nose that somehow didn't seem to get in the way of the rest of his graceful features. His whole face was smooth, all the way down to the stubble on his chin. It was the stubble and his long nose that made his more masculine features stand out above the rest; making Lili see a man more in control with his feelings than anyone else with such feminine features as he.

But he's so gorgeous, thought Lili- not so much in adoring fashion, but more as matter of fact. And his eyes...they were like the river at sunset, the light around them refracting against them in a way that somehow made the moment all the more singular and pristine.

"Um, hi. Monsieur. Hello." She curtsied.

The man's smile grew. "I saw you swaying to the music over there. Do you like the orchestra?"

"I really do, yes." She felt that if she looked at him too long, she would go blind at the image of his brilliance. "My family really has never had anything like it."

"And who is your family?"

"House Zwingli. We live in Switzerland, monsieur."

"All the way over there!" The man seemed truly surprised. "I suppose I should feel sort of honored."

"Honored?" Lili almost choked, trying to get her next words out. "You-you are the host?

"But of course!" He said, flashing her with his teeth, spreading out his hands before him to make the point that, yes, everything that she saw here was owned and put on by him himself.

Lili was a bit disoriented, she had to admit. Not for the last time, she wished her companion for the night were there, so that she could provide for her some smelling salts or something of the sort to keep her on her feet.

"It's spectacular!" Said Lili, the first thing on her mind. "And you-you're so young-"

Lord Francis Bonnefoy gave a lovely laugh in response-not too brash, not to girlish, but just the right combination of mirth and heart.

Lili blushed. "I mean to say-where is the elder lord?"

Francis' laugh almost stopped immediately. "Oh, he's dead," he said, almost nonchalant.

"I- I am terribly sorry," she muttered, unable at that moment to meet his eyes.

"It's quite alright," Francis said, and his eyes were twinkling again. "You're quite young too, though, non?

Lili hardly knew what to say. The fact that there were plenty of other women around that Francis could have been chatting with-and that she was of age- left her quite flustered. Coupled with the fact that this was the very first time that she had actually dared to try and flirt with someone-was it normal to feel like such a fool? "I-I suppose I am," said Lili, trying to sound a little older than her sixteen year old self. "But not too young to be here, with you."

Francis' eyebrow quirked up, and Lili wanted to die. She had NOT meant to say that- curse her and her excited little brain! She succeeded in rectifying her burst of courage with a tumble of temerity. "I...um..."

"Where is your chaperone, _ma fleur_?" Francis asked cordially. "You did not arrive by yourself, non?"

Lili didn't, but she kept her mouth quiet. She didn't quite know how to proceed without outright lying, knowing that the first thing she would say would get him onto her faster than anything before.

Oh, but who was she kidding? She had been presented with the chance to be bold for once-to venture and do something that she had never done before. And what was the harm in it, in reinventing herself for this stranger? She felt as if she could be anything with him.

"Here you go now, acting like a concerned uncle," she lamented, looking down at her own nervous hands. "And here I thought you saw me capable of standing a conversation on my own."

Lord Francis' eyes brightened then, amused. "Not at all, _mon cher_ ," he replied. "Just worried - you _should_ have someone looking after you on a special night such as this one."

Her stomach sprouted butterflies. "Am I really that obvious?"

"It's simply adorable," the lord assured her. "I feel as though I could talk to you all day."

"You could teach me," said Lili, still marveling at her boldness. Stuttering, she added, "So I don't look completely inept when conversing with some of the other nobles."

"It would be an honor," Francis said, giving a little bow, and try hard as she did to quell the bubbliness in her stomach that came as a reaction to his comforting hand at her elbow, she could not squash the feeling completely. But maybe that was a good thing, for once.

She could go for a good sweeping off her feet that night.

 **XXX**

 **A/N: Augh. That took too long to post.**

 **I have a lot of this story already figured out. But I thought that Lili should probably get a little more character exposition before I go full throttle with everything. Saying that to say . . . the prologue's going to be sectioned off in three to four parts.**

 **YARGH this chapter ended up being more than three-thousand words! Don't get your expectations up, though. From here on out, I'm not posting another chapter this long!**

 **More details on why the hell Feliciana bailed on her charge NEXT on "Between Two Lungs!"**

 **Hopefully the next chapter won't take a freaking month to develop. That was really, really bad. I'm sorry, guys.**


	3. Prologue, Pt 3

**XXX**

 **A/N: Yikes. Sorry again, Guys. I don't know how to write "meet-cutes". So that's why it took me so long with Lili & Francis' section.**

 **I'm going to use italics for characters' thoughts quite liberally. I'm also going to be using them, most of the time, for words that aren't English. I can put translations at the bottom, if you really, really want me to, but to be honest I might forget or get lazy, and really, they aren't crucial to know for the story itself. I just switch languages for fun, really.**

 **As a random side note, just assume that the characters have been speaking French the whole time while being at the Ball.**

 **Enjoy~**

 **XXX**

"You're such a cute young thing, aren't you?" the woman said to Lili. From the way she regarded her that whole night, Lili felt she could confidently say that the woman was talking _down_ to her in that particular instance-and she had no doubt that, no matter what she said next, she would continue to act towards her in this particular way.

"Mein bruder seems to think so," Lili replied politely. The woman standing beside her, a glass of wine in hand and her smile deprecating, surely a woman grown, Lili thought. She was around Lili's height, she estimated in her mind; but years older, with none of Lili's kid-like features. Where Lili's movements were quick and shy, this woman's were bold and sure. Her chin curved in towards her, pixie-like; her blonde hair was short and coiffed to her head. Lili didn't even have the presence of mind to even properly be jealous of her; she seemed too perfect.

"Your brother, you say?" the woman said, looking around lazily. "Did he escort you here tonight?"

"Nein-erm, _non,_ he did not." Lili felt like an absolute fool next to this stranger. It made no sense-she had nothing to be nervous about! After that night, she would probably never get to see her ever again- "He just came back from the army-um-service has been hard for him-"

"I see. He seems like a very lovely brother, nonetheless."

"Oh, yes," Lili spluttered, wanting to desperately prove her and her family's worth. "He's nineteen yet he's the best soldier in his regiment. He's very hardworking, but can be very stern sometimes. But-but he's very kind to me. He braids my hair! . . . Well, more so when we were younger-"

" _Enfant,_ slow your speech," drawled the Englishman across from her. He frowned. He had a bit of a sway to his step; Lili thought that he should watch his alcoholic intake before he became too drunk to stand.

" _Oui,_ especially for those of us who aren't as fluent in _français_ as others," muttered Francis, giving him a slightly lewd look.

The Englishman muttered something in his direction that Lili couldn't quite hear. She thought she heard something in English about Mr Bonnefoy being a frog, but she wasn't sure.

" _Petite fille,_ you seem quite enamored of this brother of yours," said the woman beside her, and her very voice seemed to spike Lili's heart rate two times over. "What is his name?"

"His name is Vash," Lili said, looking down. Despite herself, she said, "I shall miss him when I go off to get married." She blushed slightly. "I am afraid I will hardly be able to know how to function."

"Now now, _petite fille,_ try not to get overly infatuated with this Vash, hmm?" The Frenchwoman teased. "He IS your brother."

Cheeks aflame, Lili spluttered, "I-I do not think of him in that way!"

" _Cheri,_ are you certain?" Her blue eyes glittered with something more devious than amusement then. The woman's full pink lips spread into an even wider smile when noticing the girl's unease. "I feared you would continue to sing praises of his military bravery-"

"Like some patient maiden waiting for her hero to propose to her at last," said the Englishman, mid-chortle.

"I was _not-_ I _did not_ mean it in that manner-!"

" _Petite fille,_ we are simply advising you." The Frenchwoman rested her arm on Lili's shoulder like she meant some comfort by it. Lili didn't feel comforted at all. "Whatever love poems about Vash you may have stashed hidden beneath your bed- _his countenance, the first thing you think of when you rise, and the last thing to keep you when you lay down_ —"

Lili looked at the woman in abstract horror.

She smirked. "Well. Just keep them to yourself."

The Englishman gave another loud guffaw. That's about when the tears became visible. They'd been threatening to spill for a while now, but it hadn't been until that moment. She didn't belong there, among nobles and duchesses and businessmen much older than she. No, she was being silly if she ever thought that she could ever be like them, act like them, speak like them-no, they were above her.

Mr Bonnefoy, especially. For he had led her into this trap, had surely wanted to see her fumble and trip during her first outing since her debut. _Horrible man…._

At seeing her tears the Frenchwoman broke into a smile. _Cruel woman!_ Lili said to herself. Turning away quickly, she tried to find a place where she could get away and find composure all by herself; she couldn't get out of the conversation fast enough.

A hand locked her wrist in his own and kept her in place. Mr Bonnefoy looked down at her with sympathetic eyes. She felt as though she could drown in those wells of pity.

"Follow me," he said.

And for some reason that was beyond her comprehension, she did.

 **XXX**

Vash said that she cried like nobody else-without restraint.

When she was younger other children called her a baby, but somehow, her brother always knew better.

"You feel like no one else allows themselves too," he said one time, kneeling in front of her and wiping at her tears. He looked stern as always, but his voice was gentle. "Never be ashamed of what you feel."

Lili sniffled then and wiped at her nose. "Why do they make fun of me, then? They call me weak, a fragile little girl…."

"They mock you because they're jealous." Vash gave the barest of smiles.

Lili gaped at that. "Jealous? Of _me?"_

 _"_ It takes real strength to be honest with one's emotions," he replied.

She looked down. "And I'm not weak, like they say? Because I cry?"

Vash pulled her into a hug. "Never."

Lili wished her brother were there more than ever; even replaying that scene in her mind from years ago, she could not find comfort. She wiped at her eyes, struggling to still her sobs-

Suddenly she was enveloped in the most magnificent embrace. Mr Bonnefoy was … holding her. It was imprudent in so many ways but she couldn't help but enjoy the embrace. When he detached himself she felt as though she were lacking.

"I'm sorry," he said at once. "I shouldn't have-"

"It's okay," replied Lili, looking away quickly.

Francis fidgeted. "Did it help, at least?"

She gave a quick nod. "I think it did. Thank you, monsieur."

She stood there, trying to string words together. Being outside with whom she considered to be the most attractive man in the ball, alone, on the balcony and at night, probably wasn't the most level-headed idea, she knew. But Francis looked so worried for her….

Francis gave a sheepish smile. It was quite the contrast from the daring looks she had seen him give in the hours previously; he seemed softer now, more cautious. "I'm afraid I walked us right into that one, cheri. Jeanne has the tendency to…."

"To what?" Lili asked solemnly. "To turn into an absolute witch?"

He stuttered. "I'm afraid she has a superiority complex, that one."

"She's so beautiful," muttered Lili. "and confident. But-who wouldn't act confident when you are so beautiful?"

"I've met many who still long to be pretty when it's obvious they're the most beautiful in the room," said Francis. "Women seem to have a problem seeing what's right before them."

"Men, too," Lili said softly. "People only see what they want to see, even if what they want causes them...strife."

His eyes smiled at her softly and Lili couldn't help but blush. She wondered if that should be some sort of condition, with the blushing. She was certain she'd never blushed so much in her life-!

"You're right," he said, and she felt like she was on top of the world.

"Th-that English gentleman, does he have a name?" Lili asked hesitantly. "You two seemed rather close…"

Francis laughed. "His name is Arthur, and he is a pain in my ass." He frowned then. "But, you know, he'd probably say the same about me…."

"I find it hard to believe that you could be a pain in anyone's ass," Lili said suddenly, surprising herself again at her own boldness.

"You don't know me," said Francis teasingly. He nudged her on the shoulder with his, and the girl probably stumbled more than she should have. "Though, he might have the worst of it. I don't generally like Englishmen ."

"One's origin is hardly a basis for hatred."

"Yes, but sometimes it is." Lili looked at him shocked, and Francis continued. "Come on! Sometimes I know if I were blind to his appearance or deaf to his _accent effroyable,_ I would STILL dislike him. Haven't you ever felt that way?"

"I could never hate someone," replied Lili.

"Well. You should try it sometime. It's quite liberating."

Lili rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. Francis saw laughed, and she couldn't help but feel as though the sound was perhaps one that she could get used to.

"I think I could kiss you right now."

"I-I don't think you should," she said almost immediately. "I've never been kissed."

"Really?" Francis said, giving her a look that suggested familiarity. "I wouldn't have guessed it."

"Don't patronize me," Lili said lightly. "I wouldn't be a very good kisser."

"That's quite alright. There is always room for improvement."

Lili looked at him, unsure. "You really think so?"

"Sure," he replied. He stepped closer to her. "I mean, it's a fairly illuminating experience, in itself."

"I'm sure it is," said Lili, more than a little flustered. "But I-"

She turned around. The Ball was behind them, the doors to go back inside off to the side. They were alone, and Lili doubted that anyone would come wandering out anytime soon. Though it had been a few hours, the Ball still seemed in full swing; the entertainment for tonight sufficient enough for everyone.

Everyone-except her.

Why couldn't she convince herself to go back inside, back where everyone else was? Being there alone with Francis would do all sorts of damage to her reputation. …

...unless, nobody found her out.

"I mean…" Lili faltered, lost for words as she turned back to him. "I'm sure….a kiss from you would be lovely, Mr Bonnefoy."

Francis' face lit up, and his lips curved upward softly.

Lili had never been kissed before-and she had never imagined that her first would have such a hold on her as it did then. Francis was as adept in his craft as he looked, each movement eliciting a rise from her. A simple press of the lips turned into soft nips at her bottom lip; the hand at her hip, soon flattened itself quite nicely on her back. Despite his care, he was able to make his heart beat rise quite fast; matching him gesture to gesture became harder and harder until Lili was out of breath. When Francis broke away she found herself flush against the balcony ledge; opening her eyes, his lips were the first thing that she saw.

"...sorry," Francis said. "I shouldn't have-"

"It's okay," Lili said, despite herself. "I – I liked it."

They stood there for a time, trying to calm their breathing.

"I suppose we should be getting back," Francis said at last.

"I suppose we should," she said. "But-"

"But what?' the lord asked.

"I really don't want to."

 **XXX**

Soft. The girl's lips were soft and pleasant and Francis thought it would be the same once he got between her thighs. She seemed like a soft one; stiff, certainly, but soft and wet and gentle, _much like a baby lamb would, non?_

All in all, Francis thought, _virginal._

But Lili Zwingli was not one his usual targets, to be sure. When he had first seen her, he knew that gaining her trust and getting her to bed would be a challenge; such wide-eyed innocence such as hers wouldn't respond to any of his usual tactics. No; to her he would have to appear like a gentleman—a knight, even; the older host to her second outing since her debutante ball, willing to comfort her and guide her and tutor in all things love-related as possible.

Her social standing and the country of her origin seemed especially fortunate in this regard. For the girl was not rich enough to directly avoid his advances, but she was not poor enough to know what the full _extent_ of his advances would be. She was _perfect,_ absolutely delectable, good enough to eat, and he knew from the moment his lips had left hers that first time that he had made the right decision that night.

Because it was all a game, really— finding the perfect prey and encroaching on their best interests. Because it was _never_ in their best interests to be taken to bed—because, really, what could be done against a pregnancy? And what happened if someone found out?— surely all hell would break lose. No, the trick was to be quick and subtle about it; being able to seduce them with barely a doubt lingering in their own mind. That way they wouldn't be back later with accusations of him using force on them later—that way, it would seem like they just _couldn't_ help themselves, that it was their idea all along.

"It takes a special type of skill to be your type of evil," Madeleine had muttered one night. It was rather late, even later when Francis considered the fact that Maddie usually was in bed at that time. Francis had just exited the bedroom and was tying his second softest robe around him; his softest robe wrapped around the lady who lay behind closed doors behind him.

"What was that?" Francis said, a pinch of a smile at his lips.

Maddie turned to him, all coy smiles and hidden truth. Her violet eyes shown in the light of dimly-lit room around her; a magazine was in her lap. "The way you seduce them," Maddie elaborated. "You make them enjoy it."

"And why wouldn't they?" Francis asked. "This is _me,_ after all."

Maddie smiled shyly and looked back to her magazine. "I know," she said cautiously. "But it's not like you give them what they really want, in the end."

"What they really want?"

"Love," replied Maddie. "Commitment. Fulfillment of a promise."

Francis gave a little half smile. " _Mon cheri_ , if that's what they were after, they wouldn't be so eager to come to me, in the first place."

It had been an interesting encounter, Francis reflected. It was also interesting, he thought as well, that he chose just _then_ to reflect upon that chance encounter with his dear cousin.

It wasn't as if he hadn't done it before! Seducing some poor unfortunate, almost ten years his senior, speaking in guileless tones, with ill intent hidden within. Still, he paused. It was sort of odd that he had; the two had made it inside, at least; up against the wall, the lord could feel her breath on his neck. The space around them was made all the more heated by their proximity; the pressure in the front of his trousers clear as day. Still, he hesitated—mid-descent on the girl's neck though he was, flush against her in the hall near the guest rooms though they were. He paused and considered the situation that he had put them in –her, in particular. For though she was like some of the others that he had been with—especially in the beginning—she was still rather young, wasn't she? And though he had been with the younger variety before—well. It _had_ been a while since he had been someone's first, hadn't it?

And it was so _odd_ how his little cousin could get into his head at the most inopportune times!

"Francis?" The girl peered up at him with wide, green eyes. Her face was flushed and muted in the almost-nonexistent light of the hallway; his doing, to be sure. It was akin to a miracle that he had made it this far with her—yet still, he hesitated.

"Yes?"

Lili seemed almost surprised that he seemed ready for conversation. Francis didn't doubt that he would continue to ravish the girl that he held in his arms at that moment—what he was experiencing, really, was a minor lapse in conscience.

That was all.

"I—I was just wondering," she said slowly, mulling over her words. "Will—will it hurt?"

She didn't say these words in the way that he'd expected. Lili was not a giddy individual in any shape or form. In the few hours that he had gotten to know Lili Zwingli, Francis concluded that the girl was both very thoughtful -and very, very much a virgin.

He smiled. He hoped it looked a lot warmer than he felt. Because then he felt as though he could devour her—one chomp, just like that, and send her spiraling into oblivion.

 _Too late now._

He kissed her softly, once on the nose, briefly on the lips. "I could just eat you up," he replied. They resumed kissing until Francis found the door that he'd wanted.

 _Quick and subtle,_ he thought, as they undressed. _Quick and subtle,_ he thought as they made it to the bed. But again, he hesitated. Those green eyes regarded him with more trust that he certainly deserved. And he . . . suddenly didn't want to be quick about it. Not if this was her first time.

"I've got you," he told her then, claiming her with a kiss as he plunged into her. And Francis liked to believe that he did, as the girl held on to him for what seemed like for dear life; he liked to believe that, despite what her future prospects might be, that he would be giving her the best sex of her life.

Because it was the thought that counted, right?

 **XXX**

 **A/N: As you can probably tell by now, I'm not going to italicize sort-of patent words that are in languages other than English? Like "mon cheri" (my dear) and "mein bruder" (my brother) and "enfant" (child). I realize that I used quite a lot of French the first chapter of this fic, however; At the beginning of the next chapter, I can post translations, if it is preferred.**

 **Other words:**

 **"Petite fille"-little girl**

 **"accent effroyable"- horrible accent**

 **Side note:**

 **If there's anyone who wants to co-write this story with me, please, let me know. I would love to have someone to bounce ideas off of. I'm also a poor editor of my own work. So someone who could do a nice once-over of my work before I actually submitted it would be nice, as well.**


	4. Prologue, Pt 4

**XXX**

Arthur hoped so hard that he almost prayed that the man and the woman in the next room were _not_ Francis with yet another lady.

Because this was just fucking ridiculous.

He had hoped to escape the Ball at his business partner's affluent manor house and retire early to his room. Unfortunately, some poor soul with some lucky bastard had happened to be just in the room adjacent. He _would_ move, but all of his things just _happened_ to be there, since, you know, he's been staying at Lord Francis' manor house for the past three months and all.

Also, everyone at the Ball that he had attempted to talk to in the past four hours or so seemed to be all-too-interested in the man next to him, Lord Bonnefoy. Even when he tried, they all ignored him.

Well, that was fine with him. Most of the people who made up those balls just took up space on his "to-hate" list, so . . .

He stayed.

 **XXX**

It had been half an hour since Madeleine remembered seeing her cousin last, and she figured it was that time of night anyway. If they were lucky, the two would separate before the rest of the guests made their way home; no one the wiser as to what happened on a regular basis behind the closed doors of one Lord Francis Bonnefoy.

It was sort of ridiculous how familiar she was with Francis' routine had become to her, actually.

Though many of the young, personable and well off of Europe could boast of knowing Francis on an intimate level, there seemed to be an unspoken rule about the Manor house that became the knowledge of many a guest who had decided to visits there. Any woman could boast of virginity, but none would be ever so inclined to admit to such promiscuity. Indeed, being secretive about a night with Francis was probably a part of the allure; no one the wiser about what had transpired except she and the man she had slept with just moments before. Indeed, it was a twisted yet perfectly functional system that Francis had created for himself following his father's death-and even before he had finally passed-for really, there wasn't anything that could keep Francis from satisfying his more base desires for very long.

Yet, with all of this, Madeleine wished that he would find himself love. Not the type of love that merely came from sex, necessarily; but a love that came from long-held commitment and loving devotion. Madeleine wanted to see her cousin settled down, fat and smiling with some aging woman by his side, counting his blessings while a crowd of grandchildren swarmed about he and his loving wife. She wanted some young hopeful to come around to make him see what kind of love he was missing out on, the kind of love that she hoped and yearned for on the daily herself.

But she felt as if that type of love wouldn't be around for another few years yet.

 **XXX**

Call him creepy, but Arthur was listening intently to the love-making couple in the next room.

(Fifteen minutes had passed and Arthur was sure that this ball was just like all of the other balls, and that he would be more prone to strangle one of Francis' guests to death than actually making small-talk with them.)

And, call him creepy, but Arthur had been listening so intently on the couple next door that he was _almost certain_ that it was Francis in the room adjacent.

He sighed. Leave it to the man who had been his business partner for the better part of three months to be ignorant of that fact that he was fucking some young chit just in the next room. Francis Bonnefoy was knowledgeable in many things. But some reason that Arthur couldn't seem to grasp none of these included how to be a decent human being.

Especially towards the person who had succeeded in adding more money to his fortune than any other individual the lord had probably known.

At that thought, a twinge of jealousy course within him, and Arthur tried very hard to push the feeling aside.

Glass of wine in hand, he pushed the rest of it back in one swift motion, letting its affects both soothe and compel him. He wasn't going to sit all night and torture himself with this; he was going to rejoin the ball and find someone worth his time, dammit.

Wineglass on the nightstand now, Arthur pushed the door to his room and let himself out.

 **XXX**

Okay, so maybe this whole socializing business was harder than it looked.

Still, Madeleine noted, Francis hung around some pretty unsavory company. Everyone at the Ball was glittering and glamorous in the excessive lighting of the manorhouse, but they held inside darker hearts below prettied faces. They were fake, the lot of them; hopeless remnants of a by-gone age—

"God, man, can't you get a decent drink around here? Get me another!"

Except for one, she thought.

Arthur Kirkland was a charmer. Over the past few months Madeleine had grown to know him well, something that she hadn't figured out if she regretted that or not yet. Still, _most_ of the time he wasn't a pain to be around, and right then he seemed to be alone. An Arthur without Francis was probably the most placid Arthur around, so Madeleine made her desperate way over to him.

He had a confused servant locked tight in an armhold. The man with green eyes looked nervous and confused.

She descended upon him like the angel she was. "Arthur, please. You're making the poor man nervous."

"Fuck that. He won't give me my drink."

"It's not my fault, _mademoiselle_ ," the servant stuttered nervously. Madeleine tried to strain her memory upon hearing him. The accent was throwing her off. This was the Hispanic one, not the one who spoke Portuguese. Antonio, was it?

"What do you mean?"

"I mean—eh—I mean that Francis told me to keep a watch on Arthur's intake?" Antonio smiled warily. _Yes,_ Madeleine concluded. _Definitely Antonio. Enzo hardly smiles._ "He told me to tell the others too—to stop serving him when it seemed like he'd had too much."

Madeleine glanced over to the mentioned Englishman. He was pouting then, not looking at her. No doubt Arthur knew about this "no drink" rule.

"Arthur, how many drinks have you had?" She asked, half-polite and half-stern.

Arthur looked at her in surprise. A bud of hope seemed to flower there. "Erm . . . four glasses? Maybe five?"

"Since being here?"

Arthur nodded eagerly.

 _Well,_ Madeleine thought, _this is a special event, after all . . ._ "Antonio, go ahead and serve the man as much as he wants," Madeleine said. Antonio nodded curtly, disengaging himself from the conversation.

Madeleine turned to Arthur, arms folded.

Arthur frowned. "What is it _now?"_

"Arthur, you never drink unless you're upset."

Arthur scoffed. "I drink a lot."

"Yes, but—" She pursed her lips, gauging him. He wasn't facing her again, so it was hard to tell how tipsy he was. She pushed him firmly, shoving him with one hand to the shoulder.

The Englishman didn't fall down, but he almost did. "Hey—hey!"

"You're tipsier than normal."

Arthur's frown was deeper than before. "Tipsier than I usually am at this time of night?"

"It's different now. There are _people_ here."

"There were people before. I handled myself."

"Yes, but now there's more around to goad you into doing something you may . . . regret."

Arthur _hmmph'd_ and turned away from her. That's how Madeleine knew he knew that he thought she was right, because he didn't outwardly admit to it. "Well. I may be a little upset, but there's no way in hell that I'm going to tell you why."

"I see."

Madeleine knew that Francis experimented from time to time with the opposite sex, but there had always been something different about Arthur that made her wonder if he didn't swing for the same sex completely. And, being of the fairer sex as she was, she knew that Arthur probably had a bit of a crush on his partner. It definitely explained why he stayed after all of the fighting that the two did; Arthur just couldn't admit to having feelings for the Frenchman. _Especially_ to having feelings for the man who was French _and_ vexed him more than anyone in his life. Knowing Arthur as she did, he had probably gotten upset when he'd seen Francis trail off after yet another one of his lovers. He was just too stubborn of a man to admit it.

Antonio came back with Arthur's drink. Arthur snatched it away from the man like he was angry at him for bringing him wine. Which he probably was. Francis purposely didn't buy whisky or bourbon with Arthur in mind.

Antonio levelled the tray towards her, offering her the last wine on the platter. She declined. _No, that's enough for tonight._

She didn't want to be unsteady on her feet. She wanted to dance.

 _But dance with who?_ She circled around, looking for someone to come and snatch away from conversation in order to sate her dancing desires. But she found no one.

She sighed inwardly.

"Arthur, would you like to dance?"

Arthur cocked an eyebrow at her. "Is that an invitation to something . . . more?"

Madeleine had to keep from laughing in his face. Francis had tried to set them up before. It didn't go well. "Please. Just a dance, then I'm going to sit down."

His eyes narrowed in concern.

"Just pacing myself, _mon cher._ Unlike," she gave him a once-over, " _some_ people."

Arthur rolled his eyes and offered her his hand.

They waited until the last dance was over before allowing themselves to be swept up by the music.

Arthur led, though she sort of thought that she should be the one doing the job. His latest glass on wine made him more hesitant than normal, and he grew more and more unsteady with each turn. Still, Madeleine thought, dancing with him wasn't unpleasant. Sure, he was a bit stiff at times, his hand placed awkwardly on her waist, but still. It wasn't a terrible dance.

"Did I ever mention," Arthur muttered into her ear, "how your eyes match with the color of your dress? Because they do. It's nice."

Madeleine smiled wistfully. She supposed that she would just have to imagine that it was someone else who had commented on her dress—a man who didn't pine after other men.

 **XXX**

The man on the floor was drunk and rambling. A tray with fresh wineglasses in hand, Enzo would've tripped over him had he not been talking to himself.

"Fucking wine," the man murmured. "Fucking Francis. Fuck this bloody ball," the man said, and Enzo realized it was the Englishman who had been staying with Lord Bonnefoy for the past few months. Really, he was more drunk than was past appropriate for one of these things.

Mr. Kirkland looked up to the ceiling like the burden of the world had fallen on his shoulders—which Enzo personally doubted seeing as the man had probably grown up being pampered his entire life. But there was no way in the world he would ever say this out loud, because in this case he valued his job more than he did his personal opinions.

"Who would want to go to this ball, anyway?" Arthur complained. "It's all a game, a show, a play. "Because all the world's a stage, Arthur my boy, and the people in it are just it's goddammed players."

Enzo wondered idly who had said that to him. He didn't let it concern him all that much, however, because really, he still had wineglasses to deliver and a party to attend to.

He almost skirted past him, too, had Arthur not looked over to his side of the hallway. He latched onto him, much like a helpless man to a life raft.

"You!" Arthur said dictatorially, and Enzo stopped in his tracks. The way he had said it was really quite dramatic.

Enzo bowed like the servant he was. "Good evening, Mr. Kirkland."

Arthur looked confused. "You know my name?"

One of Enzo's eyebrows twitched. "Of course. You have been staying with Lord Bonnefoy for months."

Arthur looked at him stupidly, trying to place Enzo at the manorhouse any of the times that he had eaten breakfast or dinner with the lord of the manor. And it bugged Enzo to some extent that he'd been serving the man for the past three months now and he didn't even recognize his face.

"You sure?"

"Positive, Mr. Kirkland."

"Huh," said Arthur, glancing up at the ceiling in inebriated wonderment.

Enzo supposed he might as well ask, drunk though he might be. "Would you like anything, sir?"

"I don't think so, no. If I have another glasses, I think I'll throw up."

"Very good, sir," Enzo replied, thinking this to be the end of the conversation. It wasn't, however, and if you had asked him later If he would've been able to guess what in the world would stumble out of the Englishman's mouth next, Enzo would've said that, though he had seen much and heard much around much, he wouldn't have.

"Would _you_ like anything?"

And Enzo's reply was more pathetic than anything the Englishman had done or said thus far.

"Huh?"

"Would you like for me to give you a blowjob?"

"E-excuse me?"

"I've only done it twice before, but I'm sure if I practice I'll be able to get better," Arthur said. "Humor me. It's pretty hard to practice with just one person." Enzo saw that the man was serious. Arthur began to get up on his hands and knees, using the wall beside him for support. "I want to see if I'm still good."

His verbal abilities returned to him. "Sir, that's not really necessary—"

"You don't think so?" Arthur was on his feet now, dangerously close. He put a hand to Enzo's cheek. "You deserve it, with a nice face like your's."

Enzo blinked.

 _Drunk_! he shouted in his mind. _This man is drunk and if I let this happen and he happens to remember the next day I may be fired._ But his heart was thumping and his cheeks were flushed and even though his stomach was clenched in a way that made him really, really dizzy he still found Arthur's last comment quite flattering . . .

So what was he going to do in some dark hallway that (probably) no one was going to find them in when Arthur lifted the tray of wine glasses from Enzo's fingers and set it on the ground beside them. He wasn't like 'Tonio, he wasn't fit for this life of servitude like he was. He was a proud man, at least, at one point he had been, and could help but be left speechless when the man with the dirty blonde hair began to unbutton his server's vest and began to caress him in the most mind-numbing way possible . . .

And though Enzo kept screaming in his head "I should say something, I should make this stop" he didn't even begin to open his mouth to do so.

No, the only thing that came out of Enzo's mouth for the rest of that night were moans and groans and really everything in between.

 _Because how could it be_ my _fault_ , Enzo thought, that Arthur had opened his own trousers and had put his own mouth to do something so illicit that his mother would no doubt beat him until he was black and blue if she ever found out what he was letting this man do to him. But it was a good thing that his mother lived a whole country away, because if she knew that even beyond this Enzo had been enamored with the same sex for well over the time he and the businessman had spent in that hallway near the kitchens she would probably faint right then and there. But, because a drunk Arthur just happened to be his favorite type of Arthur, nothing had happened until then.

But in actuality Enzo thought about none of these things in the heat of the moment. No, what he really thought about went beyond his mother or his sexuality or his station but the fact that he happened to really, really _like_ blowjobs and would try to make an effort in the future to get more of them.

You know, probably after he got fired.

Because at that moment Lovina was peering into the hallway next to the kitchen wondering where the _fuck_ those wineglasses were - which probably wasn't the most Christian thing to think, but hey- she'd go to confession later. Her presence there wasn't something that Enzo had considered at all, not with Arthur's mouth doing— _nnngh—_

But if he had seen her—and he didn't—he would've known and appreciated the fact that her fellow servant in the Bonnefoy manner had decided to stay silent on discovering the two in the hallway. Not even she knew what she would do with the information now that he had it.

No, all she was focused on doing at the moment was backing up and try to un-see something that she wasn't supposed to have seen in the first place.

 **XXX**

"Did you find him?"

"No." Like an afterthought: "Bastard."

"Where is he?"

A blush. "Didn't see him."

"So, you didn't get any glasses?"

" . . . no."

"Why didn't you, then?"

"Do I need to answer to you?"

She did, actually, since 1) Antonio was older than her, 2) Antonio was a man, and automatically her superior, and 3) Even if this weren't 18th century France, Antonio still would've been above her since he had far more work experience being at the manorhouse than she.

"I guess not," Antonio replied (because that made sense). "But don't you think we'll need them?"

"No." Lovina hesitated. "The guests are starting to leave. They'll be fine." And that was the end of that.

What Lovina had said had sort of made sense, because the guests really were getting ready to leave and it didn't seem like anyone wanted to drink anymore, anyway. But still. Lovina sounded like she was hiding something, that maybe she knew something about Enzo that for some reason required secrecy.

Toni let her hide. He'd ask Enzo about it later.

 **XXX**

 **Translations from Prologue 1:**

 _ **Je vous remercie, mon douce=**_ **Thank you very much, my sweet.**

 _ **Mon douce fille=**_ **my sweet girl**

 **XXX**

 **A/N: WELL this chapter was just all kinds of FUN, wasn't it?**

 **THE PORTUGALXENGLAND HAS BEGUN!**

 **This was longer than I had intended, but after this I'll probably have the chapters a bit longer anyway. I'm not sure about the next time I'll be able to post, but this set of Prologues was just to get the ball rolling, anyway. After this, things will definitely be more faster paced, in a more story-oriented format.**

 **Pleas review~**


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